The books in my pack have become so obnoxious with their incessant mumbling that it’s with no small relief that I find that old shrine I’d been looking for, not that it’s really much of a shrine any longer. Just a brazier (unlit) in the midst of some rubble. I wouldn’t have even known that I’d found the right place, considering how many various temples, shrines, and ruins of temples and shrines are scattered about Khenarthi’s Roost, if it weren’t for the sudden intensification in grumbling from the books in my pack. Instead of attempting to entice me into opening them, now they’re attempting to entice me into avoiding this place. Naturally, I’m not going to listen to them this time either.

There’s a Khajiit woman here calling herself Sahira-daro, claiming to be a ‘simple Khajiit’ and probably as much full of shit about that description as Razum-dar is. She tells me that this was a shrine to Hermaeus Mora, Daedric Prince of Secrets, and that staring into the ever-burning flame would show the locations of lost tomes of knowledge. This ever-burning flame does not appear to be particularly ever-burning at the moment, however.

Although I’m half tempted to just hand these books to this unwise knowledge seeker just so she can see what’s coming to her, I’m not feeling that cruel at the moment. Besides, then I’d have to pick up the books from her corpse and have to destroy them anyway, so what’s the point? Her soul is going to wind up in Hermaeus Mora’s realm of Apocrypha sooner or later, if she’s already committed herself to his worship. The books are whispering to me again, trying to encourage me to give them to Sahira-daro.

“That one is clearly a worthy knowledge seeker,” the books whisper. “What harm could there be in allowing her to read us?”

“How about not?” I mutter.

That’s when the ghost reappears. “You must cast the books into the ever-burning flame to destroy them! Quickly, before you are ensnared!”

“Right, about that ever-burning flame…” I point toward the cold, dark brazier. “I said I’d throw these books into a magic fire, but there is no magic fire here.”

“That’s not possible!” the ghost says.

“I’ve generally found that, contrary to what people might protest sometimes, most things are actually possible,” I say. “Generally if something ‘impossible’ is happening, that’s just weird, but obviously must be possible since it’s happening.”

“I can relight the fire but you must burn the books!”

“No, you must give me the books!” Sahira-daro insists. “I can preserve them safely. I know how to handle sacred tomes of knowledge.”

“Nothing good comes of dealing with Daedra,” I say. “Even the ones who are supposedly ‘good’. Even the so-called ‘Good Daedra’ will turn their backs on you and abandon you in your time of need.”

The ghost lights the fire for me, and Sahira-daro goes quiet as I approach the brazier and pull the books out of my pack. It’s at that point that I hesitate, books in hand, staring at the eerie blue flame.

“You don’t really want to destroy us, master, do you?” the top book asks me.

“We could teach you such wonderful things!” says the second one.

“Or you will burn instead of us…” says the third.

My skin tingles and I quickly develop a headache that builds to battle axe intensity as I try to move my hands toward the brazier. I find my hands gripping the books tightly and my fingers will not obey my commands to let go.

“Dear books,” I grit out through clenched teeth. “I spent millennia being tortured by Daedra in Coldharbour. Do you really think a little pain is going to discourage me anymore than your words will?”

With great force of will, I press through the pain and shove the books into the flame. The books are burning, my hands are burning, but I refuse to back down. Stars spin in my vision and I black out.

…

I wake to find myself laying on a pallet inside a wooden building. There’s still pain, but now it’s only in my blistered hands and not in my head. The Daedra-worshipping Khajiit is still with me.

“This one brought you to nearby Windcatcher Plantation after you passed out,” she says. “Sahira-daro wishes you had not done that, but she bears you no grudge for it.”

“Thank you,” I murmur. “Did you bring my pack? There are healing potions in it. The glowing green bottles.”

“Ah! So that’s what those are.” She opens up the pack and pulls out one to examine it. “Torchbug Treacle, hmm. Usually the healing potions this one has seen are red.”

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She pulls the stopper and holds it to my lips. If anything, the taste is even worse than the Dominion marines complained of, but I hold it down and try not to gag on it, especially since I’m not the one controlling the flow. As it goes down, the pain in my hands begins to subside and the blisters slowly fade.

“You have my gratitude, Sahira-daro,” I say. “I would be happy to bring you non-evil books if you’d like, but be assured that you are better off without those particular tomes of forbidden knowledge.”

“Did you read them?” Sahira-daro asks. “Did you look inside? Do you know what sort of secrets they might have held?”

“I tricked a necromancer into opening one of them,” I say. “One of those tentacled Daedra—a Watcher?—came out of a portal and attacked him. You would have been killed.”

Sahira-daro frowns. “Then if that is true, if that was not only a trap for the unworthy, perhaps Sahira-daro owes you her life.”

“Those books kept talking to me the entire time I was traveling the island,” I say. “They were incredibly annoying. Real tomes of knowledge don’t need to try to coerce you into opening them.”

“What was that you said?” Sahira-daro asks. “About Daedra? You were in Coldharbour?”

I nod. “I’ll trust that you won’t say anything about it, as I won’t say anything about you being a Daedra worshipper. Once, long ago, I was a worshipper of Azura. But my friends betrayed me. My wife betrayed me. They sacrificed me to Molag Bal. I found a way to escape, eventually. Pure chance, most likely, no matter what people might spout about ‘destiny’. I stopped believing in destiny after Azura abandoned me.”

“Who do you worship now?” Sahira-daro asks.

I shrug. “Nobody, I guess. I haven’t really thought about it overly much. I’m still just kind of trying to adjust to being alive and on Nirn again. To be perfectly honest with you, I have no idea what’s going on in the world these days and I’m just faking it and making things up as I go along.”

“Perhaps a little knowledge would not be a bad thing, then,” Sahira-daro says cheekily. “Did you stop to read any books along the way that weren’t trying to entice you with forbidden whispers?”

“I haven’t really had the time,” I say. “First there were the undead that were about to overrun the island, then there were the Maormer trying to conjure storms to destroy the island, then there were the thunderbug omelettes that were far more delicious than they had any right to be…”

Sahira’s whiskers twitch in a grin at my priorities. “There is always time to gain knowledge. Unfortunately for Sahira-daro, the sacred fire went out again after you burned the books, and this one has no idea how to relight it again.”

“Maybe it’s just as well,” I say. “The Daedra Lords always exact a price, and it’s never the one you thought they were asking of you. Still, perhaps we can exchange a bit of knowledge, if you’re interested. I can tell you about my time, you can tell me about yours?”

I plan on asking questions of Razum-dar and Rurelion next time I see them, but a different perspective can be invaluable, and she already knows about my dealings with Daedra. Maybe I don’t need to tell her about the specifics of my identity, but either way, it’s likely that a follower of the Lord of Forbidden Secrets would be capable of keeping a secret.

She brings out some food, and we spend some time talking. I know a lot of very interesting things that have been lost to time, it seems, and while her own knowledge of this time is more general, it does not make it any less interesting to me.

Tamriel has been divided into three alliances: the Aldmeri Dominion, the Ebonheart Pact, and the Daggerfall Covenant. The descendants of my own people, the Dunmer, have apparently joined the Ebonheart Pact, and my presence here posing as a member of the Dominion puts me in opposition to that. Oddly, they’ve even joined forces with our ancestral enemies, the Nords. I don’t begrudge them that, as the Nords I remember were honest and honorable warriors even if we were on opposing sides. I think for the moment I’m going to try to stay well away from Ebonheart Pact territories to avoid risking coming into contact with my old ‘friends’.

“What about the Dwemer?” I ask. “You haven’t mentioned them yet. Are they also with the Ebonheart Pact?”

Sahira gives me an odd look. “The Dwemer disappeared without a trace thousands of years ago. Nothing but ruins and machines remains.”

I blink. “What?”

“No one knows what happened to them,” she says. “It’s all a great mystery. Sahira-daro was hoping you might be able to shed some light on what happened to them, but it seems you know no more than this one!”

“I know they found a strange, ancient magic rock called the Heart of Lorkhan,” I say, putting my face in my hands. “They were performing experiments on it. They’d made some tools that they were hoping could be used to manipulate it. But, I’ll be honest here, my memory is really fuzzy in places, particularly around the time immediately preceding my death.”

“A pity, that. Still, Sahira-daro appreciates the secrets you have shared, especially since you do not plan on making them public knowledge. It might just make up for not being able to read some secret tomes that may have been clever tricks or traps.”

“Always keep your eyes open,” I say. “Do people still say that proverb about ‘if it sounds too good to be true…’?” I chuckle. “There’s also one about the wise learning from their mistakes and the wiser learning from other people’s mistakes. I didn’t know for sure that the books would do anything bad until I saw the necromancer almost get eaten by a tentacle monster. If nothing bad had happened, though, he’d have at least been distracted and wouldn’t have had a chance to benefit from it anyway, so no loss to me either way. And let me tell you, being eaten by tentacle monsters is unpleasant.”

“Speaking from experience there?” Sahira asks.

“Once your soul belongs to one of the Daedra Lords, you’re effectively immortal in Oblivion,” I say. “I’ve died more times than I can count. I’m not sure what will happen if I die here on Nirn. I’ll probably go back to Coldharbour.”

“Does that bother you?”

I shrug. “Nothing bothers me anymore.”

“Does it really, or are you just saying that to convince yourself?”

I grunt softly. “I would prefer not to have to return to Coldharbour. I don’t welcome it. But I hold no fear of it. I don’t know what might await you in Apocrypha. I’ve never been there before. Would it be a paradise of knowledge? Or just another shade of hell? Even if it were the latter, I’d prefer it to a return to Coldharbour, as at least it would be a different shade of hell.”